


Luck

by purglepurglepurgle



Category: Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997)
Genre: Crush, M/M, anyone who uses the word 'whit' in everyday conversation has to be a lit nerd, costume questions, do they even have pigs on Gaia?, flirtation, nerd!sephiroth, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:01:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23302825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purglepurglepurgle/pseuds/purglepurglepurgle
Summary: Tseng bumps into his crush, and can't believe his luck!Just me being silly
Relationships: Sephiroth/Tseng (Compilation of FFVII)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	Luck

**Author's Note:**

> Found this on my harddrive from a few months back; tried to neaten it up. Set pre-Nibelheim incident.

Tseng spots Heidegger at the other end of the corridor, glaring, cheeks red as a fully-armed submarine. The Head of Defence hasn't seen Tseng yet, so Tseng ducks into an office. He doesn't feel like getting yelled at for three hours about the sandwich choices in the canteen ( _"Tuna? Tuna?!! Where's the MEAT?!!!"_ ), or the toilet smell in the conference room, or any of the other similarly worthwhile and urgent complaints that dominate (or rather, constitute) Heidegger's mind. Especially since Tseng took the last bacon sandwich.

Tseng gently pulls the door closed, takes a bite of his sandwich, then gives a start. Too late, he's realised that the room is occupied. They're not supposed to eat outside the canteen...

 _Shit_ , he thinks, but there's also a thrill. _Sephiroth_.

They've never been alone together before. The white-haired SOLDIER is sitting, reading a book. As Tseng surreptitiously lowers the sandwich to his side, he tries and fails not to stare. As always. He thinks it's a uniquely cruel (and glorious) trick of fate that the most attractive man on the planet wears, for his day-to-day, a mix of steel and black leather. There he is with the two taut bands, crossing his bare chest (those muscles!), so tight they _must_ constrict, and it makes Tseng's breath catch. Gauntlets. Metal belts. Tseng imagines writing the letter.

_"Dear Sephiroth, please violate me the way you violate Shinra's dresscode. -T"_

Put it on some Administrative Research letterheaded paper, and send. It's tempting. He realises he's staring. He tries to pretend he's thinking about anything other than running his hands down that leather. _'Hands'._ "Good book?"

Sephiroth snorts. "Hardly." He puts it down. Tseng is surprised Sephiroth doesn't use a bookmark; the SOLDIER leaves the book open, spine out. It'll crease. If it were anyone else, Tseng would be irritated. Instead, the gesture looks cool, devil-may-care. Tseng now decides there is nothing hotter than a crumpled book. He eyes Sephiroth's long, slim fingers, bound in the tight black leather, as the SOLDIER continues, "You know the type. Nothing to say, affected style. Synecdoche. Fragments."

"Mm." Tseng tries to look as though he has a clue what 'synecdoche' means. Not that Sephiroth is paying attention. He seems amused.

"Ah, and I'm a hypocrite. Suppose I'm just one among hordes who curse Caliban in the mirror."

Tseng says nothing. He likes the way Sephiroth's lips purse around the word 'hordes'.

Sephiroth lets out a low laugh, belt-buckle gleaming. There's one tiny clasp holding his coat on. Tseng bets it would spring open if he so much as brushed it with the back of his hand, straining over Sephiroth's chest like that. "You're Tseng, correct?" Sephiroth asks. The coat-clasp taunts Tseng, painfully fastened.

"That's right." Tseng's mouth is dry. He knows it's a bad idea, but he almost wants to bring the subject up. You don't just wake up one morning in BDSM gear (well, you do, but there's a causal... chain). No, if Sephiroth's wearing it, it's because he wants others to see it, to _know_ , and why would he want that unless... unless...

"I'm glad our paths crossed," says Sephiroth, standing. A lock of hair falls over his chest. It lies against his skin, curled between the straps. "Tonight, I head to Nibelheim. When I get back..." He looks Tseng up and down. Mostly down. "Well." He picks up his book, his tongue just visible in the corner of his mouth. "I'll see you again."

Tseng manages a nod, as the door closes behind Sephiroth.

He can't believe his luck.

**Author's Note:**

> Sephiroth's costume always bothered me. Didn't seem to fit his personality at all.
> 
> Was tempted to have Sephiroth run his fingers down Tseng's sandwich at the end, but I thought that was slightly *too* ridiculous... but it's a funny mental image so wanted to share it. :D


End file.
